


What's Your Name?

by AU Mer-Maid (neonstardust)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Alternative Universe - Kingdom, Don't Let The Tags Fool You This Is Safe For Work, Fake Names, Kinktober 2019, Masquerade, Masquerade Ball, Nicknames, OC: Original Creepy-Twins, Wholesome Safe For Work Content In My Kinktober? Heck Yeah, baker - Freeform, meet-cute without the cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-07
Updated: 2019-10-07
Packaged: 2020-11-26 02:56:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20923031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neonstardust/pseuds/AU%20Mer-Maid
Summary: On the list of things Shirabu hates, rich people are very close to the top, right alongside politics, small talk, and formal wear.As his step-sisters drag him to a masquerade ball that will be filled with all of the things he hates and more, he thinks they deserve to be somewhere at the top of the list, too.





	What's Your Name?

Ties were invented by the devil. Shirabu digs a finger beneath the fabric, loosening it so he can breathe, but it continues to irritate his throat. His face itches. He leans back against the table a little too suddenly, and punch sloshes out of the bowl, staining the once white tablecloth.

“Brother,” his sisters scold in unison, looking every bit like the creepy twins they are.

“Go find the prince already so we can go home,” he says. He has to get up early for work. The sooner they get this night over with, the better. Lifting up the edge of his mask, he scratches beneath it.

Ryou slaps his hand away. “You can’t take it off,” Kyou snaps. She looks around nervously for guards, as if they’ll suddenly be carted off out of the castle for breaking dress code. Ignoring them, Shirabu lifts his mask again and finishes scratching his cheek.

With a huff, his sisters disappear into the crowd.

Before him, the dancers twirl to the music. Evening gowns billow out in gold and red. Tilting his head back, Shirabu watches the candle light reflect off the crystal chandelier.

The prince should be seated on the north side where he can greet each guest as they descend the stairs. Taking this into account, Shirabu heads in the opposite direction.

The ball is open to the public, or so the flier claimed. They advertised it as some kind of an event for a vague, trivial formality to uphold an ancient tradition that no one has record of. Shirabu knows it’s a political tactic. It keeps those too poor to buy fancy dress clothes aware of the disparity in their wealth and sends a message to the surround kingdoms that they’re strong enough to survive without a matrimonial alliance. But if his sisters are stupid enough to believe it’s an attempt for the prince to find a wife, then that’s none of his business.

Still, the beauty of the castle is entrancing. Shirabu walks slowly. His shoes echo on the marble floor. Glittering, solid gold frames house painted masterpieces from the best artists in the world. Shirabu’s gaze travels higher, up the vaulted ceilings, where the walls give way to crystal clear glass, letting in the moonlight from above.

The dance hall is far too big, even with half of the kingdom shoved inside. The people thin out the farther he goes. Empty suits of armor line the walls. Columns rise up to the ceiling. Shirabu traces his hand along the smooth surface, finding vines and flowers sculpted into the stone.

“Like it?” a voice asks.

Shirabu glances over his shoulder. His eyes skip over the man at first. Tucked away behind a grand piano, Shirabu sees only his head, a glittering mask hiding the majority of his face. When he stands, the light catches his hair, illuminating it a brilliant silver, like he’s made of starlight itself.

Shirabu shrugs. It’s meant to shut down the conversation before it can begin, but the man wanders closer anyway.

Stopping besides Shirabu, he leans his cheek against his hand and appraises the hall. “It’s too fancy.”

“That’s kinda the point.” Shirabu stuffs his hands in his pockets. “If you have a boring castle, you can’t lord it over people’s heads.”

“That’s one way to think of it,” he says.

“Got a better idea?” Shirabu asks.

The man smiles. “They just had too much time on their hands. What’s your name?”

Shirabu eyes him skeptically. His mask is well designed, but his blazer has rough stitches and patches. It hangs off him like it’s a size too big. He’s definitely not one of the nobles. Still, there’s something strange about him. “What’s yours?” Shirabu challenges.

He pauses, just a heartbeat too long. “Shuu.”

Shirabu raises an eyebrow. “Shoe?”

“No. Shuu, like…” he trails off. “Uh.”

“You forgot how to spell your own name?” Shirabu asks, and he sighs.

“I just thought it would be fun to have nicknames,” he says. “Since it’s a masquerade ball. What’s the point in having a mask if you tell everyone who you are?”

It sounds like a lie, but Shirabu has to admit he has a fair point. If anything, it saves him from having to reveal his own identity, not that it really matters. Of all the masks he’s seen so far, none of them actually conceal anything. “Call me Shiro then.”

“Nice to meet you.” Shuu smiles.

Behind them, people clap politely as the dance ends. A new song starts. Shirabu watches as they change dance partners, but his sisters are nowhere in sight.

“They look like they’re having fun,” Shuu says.

“They’re just trying to get to the prince.” Walking to the piano, Shirabu trails his hand along the top.

Shuu follows and sits on the bench. His fingers hover over the keys. “They’re wasting their time.” His eyes close. As the orchestra music reaches its climax, Shuu starts playing. His song lines up perfectly with theirs, but it’s not quite the same. It rises as their falls, filling the low parts with new life. With each note, he turns the song into a new story, like writing between the lines of a book, steadily building, until it takes center stage.

His playing stops with an abrupt note. Like a spell being broken, Shirabu blinks, releasing the breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. He wishes he hadn’t stopped, that he’ll start playing again, but Shuu smiles sadly, reminding Shirabu that there was a lot more to that song than just notes and harmonies.

“He’s not interested in them,” Shuu says. The light reflects off the gold and ivory of his mask. On the surface, he seems almost angelic, but beneath that, a terrible loneliness lurks.

Shirabu glances at the other end of the hall. Shuu’s music drew more attention than he realized. Several people stopped dancing. At the outskirts of the crowd, the royal guards whisper. One person walks steadily closer, moving with purpose.

“What is he interested in?” Shirabu asks, not taking his eyes off them.

Out of the corner of his vision he sees Shuu shrug, nonchalant, but something sad swims in his eyes. “Don’t know. Probably nothing.” He closes the lid over the keys. “He’s already got everything in the world.” He flips absently through the music book. “I bet it’s hard picking out birthday gifts for him.”

“Yeah right,” Shirabu scoffs.

“You disagree?”

Ahead, the person slows down, hesitant. By their royal clothes and the stern lines on their face, he can tell they’re an authority figure. It won’t be long before they make a decision, and Shirabu already knows what it will be.

Shirabu walks around the piano to stand by him. “He’s a spoiled brat.” He gestures to the hall around them. “And a prisoner to the patriarchy. I could teach him more about the real world in one night than he’s seen in his whole life.”

“Oh?” Shuu straightens. “You sure are confident. What could you possibly show him that he hasn’t seen before?”

“Everything.” Shirabu holds out his hand. His skin is rough, toughened by hard work. Calluses line each finger, and beneath his nails, he sees spots of flour he missed when he washed up earlier. When he takes Shuu’s hand, it’s soft, almost soft enough to send his sisters into a fit of envy, if not for the spots where the piano keys strengthened the pads of his fingers.

“Watching sunrise through a window isn’t the same as being outside, sitting on the dock with your feet in the lake,” Shirabu says. “Food made by indifferent chefs doesn’t compare to eating something you made yourself. And there’s only one place in this rotten kingdom that’s got fireflies.”

“Fireflies?” Shuu’s eyes light up.

“They’re brightest during summer, right when the baby turtles hatch and head to the sea.” Shirabu pulls him to stand. “Up the hill, there’s a bed and breakfast. The owner feeds the birds. There’s nest all over. They’ll sit on your hand and let you pet ‘em. But”—Shirabu looks away, pretending to take his hand back—“he wouldn’t be interested in any of that.”

Shuu’s grip on his hand tightens. “He might be.”

“Nah.”

“What happened to your confidence?” Shuu presses. “I thought we had a bet going.”

“Alright.” Shirabu smirks. “And if I lose?”

Shuu doesn’t hesitate. “You tell me your real name.”

“What if I win?” Shirabu asks.

Shuu opens his mouth but stops himself before the words form. “What would you want? I mean, you know…” He shuffles his feet. “If by some miracle you got the prince to actually go along with you.”

Behind them, the authority figure squares their shoulders with renewed purpose. They head to get the guards.

“If I win…” Shirabu leans in close. Shuu’s jacket seems even baggier up close, but the shirt tucked beneath it is custom tailored. Gently, Shirabu tugs his collar loose. A hint of a necklace chain shines, and he pulls it up to reveal the golden pendant at the end. “I’ll take this, your highness.”

He tenses.

“It’s only fair, since I’ll be missing work for this,” Shirabu adds. As carefully as he pulled it out, Shirabu tucks the necklace back beneath the prince’s collar. He lets go of his hand. “The choice is yours. If you’re interested, I’ll be by the punchbowl.”

Shirabu turns, but Shuu grabs his arm before he can take a step. “The necklace is off limits. Family heirloom. Parents will be upset.” He gestures vaguely. “I’ll pay you for missing work, but what do you really want, Shiro?”

Nervousness turns in his stomach, but the words come as easily as breathing. “Play the piano for me again.”

Shuu’s eyes widen in surprise, but then his face softens to a gentle smile. “Deal.”

The authority figure reaches the guards. Not wasting time, Shirabu leads him discreetly through the castle to the exit. “Are you ready, your highness?” The outside air cools his face, and he pulls off his mask, throwing it behind him.

“Call me Yahaba.” He slips off his mask and the ridiculous jacket. Taking Shirabu’s hand, he says, “Lead the way.”


End file.
